


Nobody Messes With You But Me

by ebi_pers



Category: Jurassic World (2015)
Genre: Big Brother Zach, Brother Feels, Bullying, Family, Protective Big Brother
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-10
Updated: 2015-08-10
Packaged: 2018-04-14 01:10:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4544346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ebi_pers/pseuds/ebi_pers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You always ask me why I’m so mean to Gray. Did it seriously never occur to you that other kids might be meaner to him?" Gray's being bullied in school. Nobody picks on Zach Mitchell's little brother and gets away with it. Set pre-Jurassic World.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nobody Messes With You But Me

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Hey! So thanks for the prompts I’ve already received! This one comes from the awesome Lillyflower01 on Fanfiction. It actually relates to “Stronger Than Me,” where I alluded to the fact that Gray was being bullied in school and Zach stepped in. The prompt is to elaborate on that moment and I LOVE IT SO MUCH! So here it is. Coincidentally, a similar prompt idea popped up on Jurassic World Prompts, too. So this is also a fill for that. I hope you enjoy and don’t forget to send me any prompt ideas you’ve got (or submit them to Jurassic World Prompts on Tumblr). And I would also love reviews, of course!

It started with little signs that Zach noticed but ignored. Gray would come home with holes in the knees of his jeans or a dirt stain on his shirt or a small, dark bruise under his chin. Little things that were easily explained away. “I fell and hit my chin on the ground” or “I tripped” were plausible enough that his parents were satisfied and didn’t pry any deeper into it. His dad simply shrugged it off and went back to working on his laptop or his tablet or making phone calls or whatever-the-hell he did when he wasn’t working in the office. And his mom didn’t want to consider that everything _wasn’t_ okay with her baby boy so she smiled and nodded her head and said “nothing a little Tide can’t get out” or “we can get you a new pair of jeans this weekend” or “put a Band-Aid on it. You’ll be good as new in a day.” And Gray dutifully obeyed, smiled as if her words had encouraged him, and never mentioned what was actually happening.

But Zach knew. Gray was by no means athletic but he wasn’t that clumsy either. There was no way he was tripping that much. There was no way _anyone_ could trip that much. But his little brother never said a word so he let it go. _The kid can fend for himself. He’ll be okay_.

Except deep down, Zach Mitchell knew that his little brother _wouldn’t_ be okay. Gray was the peacemaker of the family, the one who desperately avoided conflict. When their parents fought, Zach would throw himself right into the middle of it, tell them both off, scream and shout and throw it right back into their faces until they either united against him or sent him up to his room to cool off. Or else he was pulled right into the middle of it when either his mom or his dad asked him an unfair question—things like “don’t you think keeping the house clean is a _family_ responsibility” or “is it too much to ask for your father to cook dinner once in a while if I’m tired” or “don’t you think your mother is being a little overdramatic”—until he was moderating their fights like a boxing referee.

But Gray wasn’t like that. Gray made himself scarce at the first sign of trouble, shuttered himself in his room with those stupid plastic dinosaur toys or one of the enormous prehistoric animal books Aunt Claire sent from Jurassic World in lieu of actually being there for his birthday or Christmas. He never yelled at his parents to stop or shut up and he was never around long enough to be drawn into their arguments as an unwilling third party. Gray liked to pretend everything was okay. And Zach was almost positive his little brother would never stand up for himself for the very same reasons he avoided his parents’ fights—he hated conflict.

Zachary Mitchell was not the definition of a good brother by any means. At least in his mind. His mother never failed to remind him of that anytime he said something hurtful to Gray. “Why do you have to be so _mean_ to him, Zach? He worships you and this is how you treat him?”

And as much as he sighed and groaned and rolled his eyes at his mom and at his little brother, it hurt him, too. It stung when he said something particularly mean to Gray. It stung when the boy cast pained eyes on his brother like a puppy that had just been kicked. And it stung even more when, a half hour later, the kid was back to his normal self. Happy, upbeat, the momentary pain of Zach’s words well and truly forgotten. It frustrated him sometimes. Why did Gray forgive him so easily? Why did Gray even _like_ him anymore? Why was Gray always bounding up to his shut bedroom door, begging to play? And at the heart of it, Zach knew he had nothing against his little brother. It wasn’t necessarily that he _wanted_ to be mean to him. He just somehow always ended up acting that way.

Gray had changed in recent months, though. He was quieter, more subdued. He kept to himself, closed the door to his room more often. The familiar thuds and crashes and bangs of the eleven-year-old playing dinosaurs ceased. And as often as Zach snapped at the boy for making too much noise, he kind of missed hearing it now. _That_ was when the older brother knew for sure that something wasn’t right and that it couldn’t be ignored any longer. _That_ was when he had to act.

* * *

 

“Mom? Dad?” Zach entered paused on the top of the landing and peered into the living room. His dad was in the armchair, fingers tapping away at his laptop keyboard. His mom sat on the couch, legs curled beneath her and reading glasses perched on the bridge of her nose, a magazine open in her lap. She looked up immediately at the sound of his voice. His father took a moment longer, evidently typing out the last sentence of an email or something to that effect, but also met his son’s eyes.

“What’s up, sweetie?” his mom spoke up first.

“Everything alright, bud?” his dad asked a beat later.

Zach took their acknowledgment as permission to enter and came downstairs the rest of the way, awkwardly finding a place to stand in between both sofa and armchair where both parents could see him.

“Uh-oh,” his dad smirked, leaning forward. “Are we in trouble?” His mother shot him a glare.

“I think there’s something wrong with Gray,” the teen said after a deep, steadying breath. “He’s always coming home with bruises or scrapes and his clothes get ripped up and I think there’s something he’s not telling us.” The sentence had been rehearsed a thousand times before he approached them and it came out in a single breath. He stared at the rug for a while, traced the whorls and loops in the floral pattern with his eyes. Both parents were silent and as often as he wished for them both to just shut up, he hated the quiet that settled over the room—thick and uncomfortable.

“Honey, w-why do you think that?” His mother had taken off her reading glasses and the look on her face said she was trying not to cry. It aggravated him—her first instinct was _always_ to start crying but she would never actually _do_ anything.

“I just told you!” he said, eyes wide in annoyance. “He’s always getting hurt, he’s got holes in his clothes, his shoes are scuffed. Come _on_! Nobody’s _that_ clumsy!”

“So what are you saying?” his father questioned.

Zach could feel it building—that familiar peevishness that inevitably surfaced anytime he had to interact with his parents. They couldn’t put two-and-two together? Were they really that blind? “What do you think I’m saying?” he snapped, gesturing wildly. “Isn’t it obvious? Someone’s picking on him!”

“No,” his mother interrupted as if she had been anticipating what he would say. “Honey, it’s great you’re looking out for him but…I mean are you sure? I mean…why would anyone want to pick on Gray?” Her voice was strained and choked. He wanted to shake her.

_You always ask me why I’m so mean to Gray. Did it seriously never occur to you that other kids might be meaner to him?_

He didn’t think he could get any more infuriated at his parents’ response until his dad opened his mouth.

“Even if it is happening…Gray’s gonna have to learn how to handle it. Everyone gets bullied sometime. It’s just a part of growing up.”

“I don’t even know why I try,” Zach huffed, fists clenching and unclenching with his jaw. He turned and stormed back up the stairs. He knew he shouldn’t have expected any better from them. His mother’s method of dealing with any crisis was to bury her head in the sand and pretend it wasn’t happening while his dad preferred to explain away any and all difficulties as if they were inevitable and out of his control. Or else they were character building experiences. He called it tough love. Zach called it stupid. In hindsight, he shouldn’t have approached his parents about it. He shouldn’t have hoped that this would be the one time they wouldn’t completely fail at their parenting duties.

Gray’s door was shut and the lights were off. He briefly wondered if the boy had heard any of the conversation downstairs, debated knocking gently to see if his little brother was still awake but decided against it. It was better if he didn’t know.

The upside to having a bedroom right over the living room was that Zach could hear bits of conversation going on beneath him. The downside was that, more often than not, the conversation going on beneath him was an argument.

“…what do we do, Scott?”

“…not that bad, Karen…can handle it…”

“…happening for months…should have known…email his teacher?”

“Let it be, Karen. He’ll be fine.”

* * *

 

The day Gray walked in with scratches on his face and a darkening bruise under his right eye and small, broken twigs tangled in his mop of hair was the day Zach decided he couldn’t ignore it anymore. The boy had muddy grass stains on his knees and he kept his shoulders slumped and his eyes trained on the floor as he trudged through the living room with his oversized backpack weighing him down.

The older brother intercepted him at the bottom of the stairs. “Pssst. Gray.”

The boy flinched, looked up with a start and stood frozen. When had Gray gotten so jumpy? Zach clenched and unclenched his jaw. Whoever did this to Gray, whoever had caused him to change so drastically, was going to _pay_.

“Sorry,” Gray said reflexively, dropping his gaze back to the floor.

“For what?” The older brother shook his head. “Never mind. Got a sec?”

“Why?” the boy asked warily.

“Just c’mon. Do you trust me?” He turned and started up the stairs.

Gray paused briefly at the bottom before following his brother up. “I didn’t do it,” he declared defensively as Zach reached the top of the staircase and turned toward his room.

“Relax,” the older brother insisted. “I didn’t say you did anything. I just wanna talk.” He opened his bedroom door and stepped over the threshold, pausing in the doorway to see if Gray was following. The boy stopped a few feet short and Zach quirked a brow. “Will you just come on?” The younger Mitchell finally entered the room.

Zach _never_ asked Gray to come into his room. Unless it was to ask him to get him a snack or something. And even then, he usually stood in the doorframe and shouted down the hall or down the stairs for him. Gray hesitated when Zach sat down on the bed and awkwardly patted the space beside him, indicating he should sit down too. He briefly wondered if this was some kind of test. Would Zach go off on him if he sat?

The older brother grew impatient and rolled his eyes. “Fine. Stand. Whatever.”

“Am I in trouble?”

“No!” Zach screwed his eyes shut in exasperation, took a deep breath and told himself to relax. “Just…listen. Are you…okay?” He wasn’t sure what to say or how to confront Gray about it and it was evident from the boy’s perplexed expression that he had no idea what he was even getting at.

“Yeah,” the younger brother answered hesitantly.

“No, are you _okay_?” Zach repeated. “Like in school and all?”

“I’m fine,” Gray insisted. “Can I go now?”

“No!” the older brother insisted. Gray froze, looked surprised. “Just…I know what’s going on, okay? In school. With you. I know somebody’s picking on you so don’t bother trying to deny it.” Zach blurted the sentence before he could even process what he was saying and he realized his tone sounded more annoyed than he meant. He hadn’t meant to be that direct. Alarm flashed on his younger brother’s face and Gray bolted from the room without another word. A door slammed shut down the hall. Zach groaned, dragged a tired hand down his face. _Even when I’m trying to be a_ good _brother I still screw it up._

“Hey, wait,” Zach knocked lightly at Gray’s door, striking one of the many dinosaur footprint decals that adorned it with an open palm. “Gray, open up.”

“I’m fine,” came the muffled response from within.

The older brother twisted the doorknob and was surprised to find that it wasn’t locked. He stepped carefully into the bedroom, nearly crushing a plastic stegosaurus on the ground. Gray was lying on his stomach, face buried in his pillow.

Gray could feel the end of the bed sinking under Zach’s weight and frowned to himself. Why did Zach even care what was happening to him? It’s not like it affected him any. He wasn’t sure how to react. Half of him wanted to tell his older brother to go away and mind his own business but the other half felt nothing but relief that someone had finally _noticed_. Someone finally said something.

“I didn’t mean for it to come out like that,” Zach said by way of apology. Gray made a muffled noise into the pillow and didn’t look up. “I just...I know it’s happening and I’m not okay with it, okay?

“Why do you care?” the boy murmured, his words barely intelligible.

“I’m your brother! I just wanna help.”

“Don’t need help,” the younger Mitchell picked his face up an inch off the pillow and then sank back into it.

The older brother scoffed. “You’re always getting hurt, you’ve got holes in all your clothes, come on, Gray. Who is it?”

The eleven-year-old rolled onto his side for a moment and locked eyes with his brother. Zach briefly thought he was actually going to make this easier and name a name or say _something_ , but Gray just as quickly shut down and soon his face found the pillow once more. The older brother held in a sigh of exasperation.

He thought back to every name his brother had ever thrown out there, every kid or kid’s parent his mom had introduced him to at whatever stupid birthday party they were dropping Gray off at. He tried to recall any siblings of kids in his school, any of Gray’s classmates that had ever been over to the house.

“Tommy Sylvan?” he threw a name out there.

“His name’s Tim,” Gray retorted.

“Fine. Tim Sylvan?”

“No.”

“Joe Langley?”

“No! Joe’s my friend. Will you just leave me alone?”

“Not until you tell me who it is, Gray!” Zach insisted. He inhaled, relaxed. “Look. Whatever’s happening…whoever’s bullying you…you shouldn’t just have to take it.”

“It’s not that big a deal, Zach. Stop making it a big deal!” Gray replied, getting more worked up by the minute.

“Kyle What’s-his-face. Devlin.”

Gray sat bolt upright. _That’s the one_. “Zach, it’s really not a big deal,” he started again.

“The hell it isn’t!” He slammed a fist down on the mattress and jumping to his feet. “I’m not about to let that little ass get away with picking on my brother.” He rose from the bed and started for the door.

 “Zach, no,” Gray leapt up, trying to block him. “It’s really fine.”

“No, it’s not!” the older brother stepped around him and left the room. “I won’t hurt him,” he called over his shoulder as if that were reassuring. _Much_.

Zach knew who Kyle Devlin was. Aside from some punk who was about to regret ever breathing a word to Gray Mitchell. He went to school with Kyle’s brother, who wasn’t a bad guy but certainly not someone Zach would call a friend.

* * *

 

“Mom, I’ll walk Gray home from school today,” he announced that morning at breakfast, shooting a glance to his younger brother. Gray winced momentarily and pled with his eyes for his brother not to interfere. Zach ignored the look.

“Oh,” Karen appeared surprised. “Um, okay. That sounds nice, sweetie. It’s quite a change.” She had a strange smile on her face as she regarded her sons. Zach had a hard-set look on his face as he drained his orange juice and Gray was staring deeply into the depths of his cereal bowl, fiddling with the hem of his sweater absently. The mother frowned momentarily, wondering if something was wrong but she shook the thought from her mind. If Zach was volunteering to walk Gray home, she shouldn’t complain. It was just nice that the brothers were getting along.

True to his word, Zach met Gray in front of the middle school as soon as they let out for the day. He surveyed the swarm of kids running out to buses, waiting cars, and parents. Gray trailed them all, hands shoved deep into his pockets. He was looking down. The older brother swallowed, cast one final glance around for the kid who was tormenting him, then approached the boy.

“Hey,” he clapped him lightly on the shoulder and tried to ignore his brother’s flinch. “Ready to go home?”

“Hey, Gray!” The voice was shrill, obnoxious, and grated on every one of Zach’s nerves so that he was stiff with rage before he even turned around. Gray kept his eyes on the concrete.

“Hey, Kyle,” Zach wheeled around, fists clenched and ready to face his brother’s bully. Kyle was a lot shorter than he expected, but he easily had twenty pounds on Gray. The bully stopped short, surprise and confusion registering on his face.

Gray couldn’t help but smirk to himself as his older brother stormed up to the kid who had been torturing him for the last month and a half. As much as he had begged his older brother not to do anything, he was more than grateful that Zach was there.

“I’m only gonna say this one time,” Zach growled, gripping the boy’s collar. “I don’t _ever_ wanna hear that you’ve been picking on my brother again, got it? Cuz if I do, I don’t care who’s watching. I. Will. Beat. Your. Goddamn. Face. In. Leave him alone or next time, I’ll bring my friends.” He released Kyle’s collar and the kid stumbled backward, eyes wide as saucers. Zach turned on his heel and draped an arm over Gray’s shoulder. “Let’s go.”

“Thanks,” Gray said quietly, leaning into his brother’s side, the tension slowly leaving his body. He wouldn’t have to make up a lie about why he had bruises or holes in his jeans or stains on his shirt or scuffs on his shoes. “You didn’t have to do that, though.”

“Of course I did. You’re my little brother,” Zach clapped Gray on the back playfully. “And nobody messes with you but me.”

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: And that’s a wrap! God, I love sibling interactions and protective older siblings, don’t you? Just to clarify, I don’t condone violence (or even the threat of violence). That said, I thoroughly enjoyed writing this piece. Let me know what you think in a comment? And if you’ve got prompt ideas, don’t forget to let me know or submit them to Jurassic World Prompts on Tumblr!


End file.
